Random Word Story #30~ Git a Grip

Chuck At Work

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Random words generated by randomwordgenerator.net

homophobes…Hawaiian…siftings…menaces…hexagram

I found Charlie Rainwater sitting cross-legged in an adobe hut. A single gray braid hung like a pet snake over his shoulder which nearly reached the dirt floor. He was ancient and when his milky eyes lifted at the sound of me, I could tell he was blind.

The only visible modern convenience was a portable AM radio which had a dancing red light but no sound. He’d summoned me through the mail. Apparently, he was a big fan of my morning radio talk show and had instructed one of his 22 great-grandchildren to drop me a note. Charlie could not read or write but he was up to date on the issues.

When he lifted his hand in greeting, I expected a deep voice filled with “ughs” and TV injun-style moans. To my surprise, he chuckled and a boisterous high-pitched “Howdy David, Thanks for cummin’!”, slapped me in the face.

Our interview started immediately.

“Didn’t think I had, Ellen’s chance at guest speaker for a convention of homophobes, to get you here Davy. Welcome.”

“It’s fine to be here sir. I’m glad to have the opportunity for this interview. Never expected this.”

“Well, betcha never thought a Hawaiian would be president neither. Goes to show ya, anything can happen nowadays!” Charlie lifted his chin and laughed. “Now drop that sir crap en call me Chuck won’t cha?”

“Alright, Chuck. You seem well informed. You mentioned, in the note, that you have a message for me. I’m anxious to hear about it.”

“Straight to the point, Davy. There aren’t enough points gotten to in the politics. Heck, a hexagram has six but politicians are smooth, too smooth, my boy. They are just plain menaces when it comes to makin’ THE point.” Charlie looked up toward the ceiling and sighed. “I like your show and I wanted to tell you that you ask the right questions, you’re honest and care about things. BUT, There’s much for you to learn about what my grandfather called, Shiftings and Siftings.”

“Yes Chuck, I have one heck of a time getting to the facts, for sure. I appreciate your interest.”

“Ever tried to nail an eel to a tree Davy? Slimy devils. The trick is finding the right grip. If you’re wearin’ a glove it won’t work t’all. All those other interview shows wear gloves. Slimy gloves make it too easy for the eel to shift and git away. What we need are more bare handed interviewers like you. Grip them eels ’til you can sift out that truth, boy!”

“Fine wisdom sir. I’m honored and I won’t forget that.”

“Oh yeah, one more thing Davy, don’t never try to nail an eel to a tree. It ain’t kind and serves no purpose. I step on ’em myself.” With that Chuck’s chin dropped to his chest. Moments later he was asleep.

—————————————————-

“Good morning Nevada! This is David Sands on Talk 105. A special thanks to my new friend Chuck Rainwater. My guest today is our mayor who intends to ban pee-wee football, sugary soft drinks and fun in general… welcome to the first segment of “Git a Grip and Watch Your Step”…

Random Word Story # 28~ Testy Terms

Random words generated by: randomwordgenerator.net

adequately…light-headed…laminates…refresher…testiest

Here’s my story:

Gomme_da_masticare

There was nothing Mia could do once the agreement was signed. She needed a roommate and Holt was the only one who had answered her ad. So she overlooked his testy attitude which was a big mistake.

Holt had answered her invitation with questions galore. Some like, “Would he have bathroom access between 6:00 and 7:00 am?” were understandable. Asking her not to ever chew bubblegum, in his company, was bizarre. But, his references checked out and were stunning, to say the least. Even his credit score, which he should have embossed on a medallion and worn on a chain, was as close to perfect as she’d ever seen. Mia worked, afternoons and evenings, at a savings and loan and she was impressed. His testiness could be overlooked in favor of paying the rent on time. Mia was hopeful for the weight of debt to be lifted.

As Holt set up his basement abode, his tidy nature served as a refresher course in organized behavior. Everything had its place and she found his labels, which of course he laminates, quite efficient. Holt was going to be a life saver.

He hadn’t even cared that the basement was dark. He assured her that he could adequately light it with fragrant candles and a bare 25 watt bulb.

Months went by and Mia never saw Holt, never heard him either, but she was very happy to discover his rent money placed in her mailbox with a laminated note, FOR RENT, on the first of each month.

When she received her Amazon purchase wrapped in many layers of bubble wrap, Holt was the furthest thing from her mind. With a child-like grin she playfully stomped the heck out it beneath her shoe.

“Pop, padda, pop,pop!”

Seconds later, Holt burst through her door carrying an assault rifle. His eyes were wild and his attitude was, well, the testiest! Mia dove for the floor as he sprayed her apartment with bullets until all that remained was the clicking of an empty magazine.

Within minutes, police surrounded her building and extracted a blubbering heap once known as Holt. Mia would be nauseated and light-headed for days.

It was three months before she recovered. The accumulation of new debt was enough for her to try out a new roommate. This time, she presented the prospect with her own questionnaire. The woman read and answered every question, then giggled, “What does bubblegum have to do with anything?”

Random Word Story # 27~ The Gloved Hand of Fate

Random words generated by…creativitygames.net

sparrow pillow policeman headline hygiene definition

Here’s my story:

English: A pile of pillows.

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Newton was the definition of perfect hygiene. Ever since he was small, he was germ conscious. So when it came to choosing his new pillow, Newton took no chances.

He spent hours, which became days,…and months, choosing the most hygienic replacement for the place his face would rest, half of the time, in each day. Sampling was his biggest obstacle though. How might he give a new pillow a serious try when other customers would have placed their germy noggin upon any prospect? Newt had become an expert in avoiding contaminants in his 22 years and the “pillow problem” was not going to defeat him. So, he devised a solution by covering his head and face with extra-large surgical gloves. It was quite a stretch, indeed. But Newton was determined and the scoffs and laughing of patrons did not interfere in the least.

His inspiration for the “war on germs” was a near-death experience with influenza as a child. Newt vividly remembered struggling for air and the pictures of the doctors faces, sullen and clueless. His mom’s sobbing from somewhere beyond, still woke him out of dreams in a cold sweat. His asthma was a condition not a death sentence, after all.

The term “all natural” had become his signature. “All natural Newt” researched his selection and was thrilled to find a shop which proclaimed everything beyond its door held the desired title. Naturally Nature, a small store next to Organic Offerings, had an ad in the directory and pillows were boldly printed in their inventory list. Newton, armed with surgical gloves, was finally optimistic about finding his new pillow. He made a purchase and his first, direct, contact with his $200.00 gem came that evening.

The headline in the newspaper two days later: Man Killed by Sparrows

The article read: A policeman at the scene, tried to resuscitate Newton Jones who appears to has suffocated. A pillow filled with sparrow feathers was found beside the deceased. Although illegal in this country, sparrow feathers are used in imported products. Apparently, Mr. Jones had a violent allergic reaction to the feathers. When the victim was discovered, foul play was assumed due to the surgical glove stretched over his face. After a brief investigation, it was deemed a desperate attempt by Jones to relieve his symptoms. Coroners claim he suffocated by his own glove…hand.

Random Word Story # 17~Wasted

Two Towers Las Vegas

Two Towers Las Vegas (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Random words generated by creativitygames.net.

My words are:  switch…vinegar…wardrobe…bottle…dice…fountain

Here is my story:

Randolph McMann was too old to switch careers. His elderly mother still hounded him daily about his wasted intellect and shabby attitude.

At 61 years old, he was still a window washer and expected that he would be “laid out” in his white coveralls when he left  this world too. Even when he was off duty his wardrobe was the same.

Mom had moved in with him 5 years ago when Dad died. Despite his Irish name, he was a Native American through and through. His mother was a full-blooded Navaho and he was very proud of that lineage. His grandfather had called him “Little Pigeon” because he had enjoyed walking the ledges untethered since he was a kid.

Grandfather’s breath always smelled like vinegar. Randolph asked him repeatedly for a more noble Indian name. He’d hoped for something like, “Walks on the Wind” or “Fearless Falcon”.  But Little Pigeon stuck and he continued calling him that until the “bottle” claimed his life.

Today  Randolph was at the top of his game you might say. 27 stories above the Las Vegas strip. There was quite a warm wind blowing as he anchored himself to his scaffold and began cleaning. He’d made a very good living as the stereotypical Indian climber. He had no fear of heights even now that the “bottle” was his companion too. The nips rattled in his over-sized pockets as he knelt to grab a scrub brush. He’d emptied three of them before arriving.

He’d never gambled or ran with wild women. His mother’s complaints nagged him though. As he worked in silence, his mind tossed over many missed opportunities. He’d shown a real gift for art and math was so easy for him, in school, that he would skip the class and sit on the roof only to show up for finals.

He concluded that he belonged among the clouds no matter what anyone said when the scaffold tipped suddenly to the right.

“Damned thing. I’d do better without this contraption!” He reached for another nip and downed it while investigating the problem.

His vision suffered miserably once his blood alcohol level rose yet he swung himself upon the ledge and unhooked his “safety strap”.

A nearby fountain had sprayed a mist upon the wind which had settled on that very ledge. Randolph was falling before he even realized.

Luckily, he made it to the pavement without hitting anyone. His final thought was about the safety of others. He never heard the screams and commotion that followed. The man who never had rolled the dice, never even tried, had lost.

Random Word Story #16: Cold or Hot?

Random words generated at creativitygames.net.

So my story writing exercises continue. I use random words and produce a story in one sitting.

Here are today’s words:  night…Indian…bowl…dock…metal detector…ravioli

This is my story:

South coast of Barbados, West Indies.

South coast of Barbados, West Indies. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The intricately carved wooden bowl was definitely Indian. Dagmar found it at the bottom of a box marked $1.00. The Flea Market was packed and as she dug for four quarters, she felt faint from all the commotion around her. Dagmar despised disorder and the scrambling and grabbing were almost too much to bear. But Rumpus would have the most stylish water bowl ever. That is, if Dagmar could get through the crowd and safely home.

She was known as D.K. at the office. Dagmar had always disliked her name and D.K. sounded more CEO-ish.  Rumpus was her elderly black and white cat. Actually, her cat was Rumpus III. Dagmar knew that the name was cool and didn’t think it should be wasted on just one cat. All of the others had been black and white, as well.

“If it works, don’t fix it.” was one of her favorite philosophies.

As she drove home along the water front, she noticed the same guy that she had seen every morning on the beach with a metal detector. This time he was digging furiously in one spot. He was waist deep in sand and looked very tired. She realized that she’d always secretly found him handsome. He certainly wasn’t her type at all, of course. Cutoff jeans, a tank top and a ponytail. She’d be the laughing-stock at the office with a man like that.

D.K. knew him only to wave to. Heck, she didn’t even know his name but her curiosity won and she pulled her efficient little electric car to the dock. It was odd to see him at the beach on Sunday, though.

She was hardly dressed for beach combing. Italian heels and a coral-colored suit. What was wrong with her anyway? She’d had her short mahogany hair permed only yesterday and the sun and wind would be her ruin. As she thought better of this rare spontaneity and was about to pull away, he waved at her.

It must have been meant for her. When she looked over her shoulder, there was no one else to claim it.

She waved back and while she considered her next move, he motioned for her to join him.

“Now what have I done.” she groaned.

Dagmar stepped out of the car. She planned her path to the beachfront in her head as she wobbled awkwardly into the sand.

“I must be crazy. He’s probably burying a body!” she said under her breath.

Her inner voice spoke to her. “Calm down Dagmar, you’ve been watching too many movies on the Lifetime channel. It’s broad daylight after all.”

This is when she slipped off her heels and knee highs and decided to continue. Her many years of order and prim were vanishing and she found the whole process very scary but amazingly scintillating. Her heart was pounding and several times as she walked forward, she almost turned and ran back to her car, to her comfortable self.

When she reached the man and stood beside the hole, Dagmar was out of breath, mostly from excitement. Her fear faded quickly when the man smiled at her with faint laugh lines emphasizing the deepest brown eyes she’d ever seen.

“Hey. I’ve been trying to get you to stop for sometime now. You’re D.K. Frost, right?”

“Why yes, that’s me. How do you know my name?”

“I’ve been hunting more than treasure on this beach. My name’s Brad. Nice to meet you D.K.” He offered a sandy hand and she took it.

Dagmar felt herself melting. The order, the schedules, the neatness suddenly all seemed very silly to her.

“You can call me Dagmar, Brad. What are you digging exactly?”

“At the chance of creeping you out and scaring you away, I must admit there’s nothing here I wanted more than to meet you. This hole was meant to stir your curiosity since I have noticed you watching my daily rituals from afar. I’ve been wanting to introduce myself. I live over there in the  blue beach house. I’m a judge in the fourth circuit  and really don’t care to know “beach babes”. Hope that doesn’t sound hopelessly sexist.”

Dagmar couldn’t believe her ears. This wonderful man had wanted to meet her all along. She’d been so busy judging his appearance that she had ignored her gut attraction. Seems she had been ignoring many things in her life.

Later that night, they were both still on the beach. They built a campfire and were sharing a can of cold raviolis with one plastic fork from her glove box. There was a palpable sensual air around the couple but they were both dignified and happy to take it slowly.

As they sat shoulder to shoulder with the pounding surf serenading them, Dagmar turned to Brad and asked, “Do you like cats?”

Random Word Story # 15~Finding Hymn

Two young Nokota mares

Two young Nokota mares (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Random words generated at creativitygames. net

When I don’t have a particular post to write about, I enjoy a random set of words to stir my creativity. I have a category devoted to these stories.

Today’s words are:

gang…cloak…hymn…joint…radar…masking tape

Here’s my story:

The driver side window whistled as Dillon drove along the country road at a speed, far beyond, the speed limit. He  reasoned that the country cops wouldn’t even have radar since he thought of them as hillbillies with bare feet and IQs of 20. If he had used duct tape to repair the window, it would have been okay.  But he’d only found masking tape in the trunk. That was not going to hold. Dillon made a note of this and vowed to add duct tape to his burglary kit.

This whole hazing wasn’t sitting well with him either. The open fields and tranquil setting of the farmland, was slowly having an effect on him. Stealing the car, on behalf of the gang, seemed like fun while in the city, but now, the idea of losing his freedom was unsettling. His surroundings reeked of what he would be missing, if he were captured.

At first, the adrenaline rush he’d experienced was awesome. Now, nerves and regret were closing in on him. Dillon reached into his pocket for the pin joint he’d rolled earlier. Yes, a little smoke would calm him.

As he tried to light it, the tape gave way and the weed went out of the , now open, window. His baseball cap followed.

Dillon took his foot off of the gas. He considered turning around but there was no way he’d find the joint now. The cap wasn’t even his. He let the Pontiac Firebird come to a stop on its own.

The 16-year-old got out and just stood there. The sun  covered him in a cloak of warmth he’d almost forgotten existed. It was like a hug, comforting and firm, yet not at all unkind.  No punch in the gut followed. He lifted his face and felt a phantom kiss on his cheek.

Dillon was hopelessly lost.

Standing beside the road was an old  horse. There was no one in sight on any of the roads that he could view from his position. Meadows with waving grasses were all he could see.

“Where am I?” He whispered to himself.

The horse lifted its head and gave a snort of “hello there”.  Dillon didn’t know that horses snorted. Didn’t they say ” neigh” on “Old MacDonald’s Farm” ? He cautiously approached the animal.

“Wow, you’re big dude. Wouldn’t happen to have some grass on ya?”  Dillon chuckled for a moment at his clever pun.

He reached his hand over the fence and stroked the animal’s face. It snorted again and he jumped back.

“Listen, I won’t hurt you if you won’t eat me. That a deal big dude?”

It dawned on him, that he no longer was worried about the cops, his gang or anything. The peace that he was wrapped in, right there, right then, was better than any “high” he’d ever felt. Then, he squeezed under the barbed wire and stood beside the beast. It was huge and powerful, yet gentle and friendly. The horse’s pasture was at the bottom of the steepest hill and Dillon decided to climb it so he could see the whole valley.

He patted the  Old Gray fellow and, as he did, a layer of dust filled his nostrils.

“C’mon Dusty, let’s have a look.”

At the top, he sat for a long time. As Dusty grazed beside him, an old hymn, his grandma used to sing, came to mind. It filled his head…

“Amazing grace! how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see.”

It was in his grandmother’s lap he had heard these words. Remembering them, was as surprising to him as the horse’s gentleness. Strength without anger…power without hurt.

Dillon walked through the night. He was feeling wonderful, no longer afraid of anything. He struggled to remember when, exactly, being afraid had become a constant inside of him.

When daylight broke he hitchhiked into the city. He had already decided that he was going to get his belongings and return to that pasture. Dillon wanted something. He had a goal to work on a farm , if  not that one, any farm. The gang would never miss him and certainly would not find him.

His only concern, now, was that the farm would have horses.


			

Random Word Story #11~Drinks on Me

Deutsch: Cocktails mit Schirmchen

Find the random word generator at creativity games.net

cocktail…lasso…service…consumer…corpse

Here’s my story:

The idea of visiting every State in the US was becoming a nightmare rather than an adventure.

After a cocktail or ten, Lenny made his way up the stairs to his room.  He could have used the service elevator but he couldn’t find the key…in fact, where were his keys?

He’d been the only consumer at the bar of the Hotel Cactus Flower since 11 and by 3 o’clock had become sick. It wasn’t the drinks though. It was the huge, hairy bartender that didn’t get any prettier as he got drunker.

That’s right. She was the hairiest woman he’d every seen. Who’d name a little girl Hortense anyway? This whole State was giving him the creeps. Texas was every bit like its caricature in the press if you judged it by the Hotel Cactus Flower.

The neon sign read:

Stop on by and enjoy some real Texas hospitality at the Cactus Flower Hotel.

“Yeah right! Where are those freakin’ keys?”

Lenny leaned against his door jamb and turned his pockets inside out. He lost his balance and fell against the door which opened as he did a “face plant” inside the room.

” Man! That’s gonna leave a mark. Hmmm…good thing I left it open though.”  He chuckled.

He made it to his knees when he realized that this room wasn’t his after all. It was cut out the same. They all were dinky little musty closets. He knew he would have done better to sleep in the rental car but he wasn’t going to waste $110.00 dollars and try to find the parking garage now.

“Huh, at $9.50 a drink. I’ll sleep where I please.”

Instead of using the epic strength he’d require to stand up, Lenny crawled to the bed and slept on top of the covers, a fully clothed corpse, until morning.

He woke with the worst case of cotton mouth he’d ever experienced. Hadn’t even opened his eyes when he felt his way to the bathroom. The room was dark as night with the heavy drapes drawn but the fluorescent dial on his watch said 7:32 am. After tending to all  his needs, Lenny exited the bathroom and then the room.

He’d just rediscovered his search for his keys when he met a grinning Hortense in the cafe.

“Lookin’ for these?”

She shook them and playfully extended her gorilla-like arm.

“You slept like a baby Lenny-bear. Guess, I wore you out.”  She giggled. “I’ll lasso you some grits and biscuits and be right back, sugar.”

OMG…Lenny didn’t wait for breakfast. Within, ten minutes he was speeding toward the airport and a ticket home. It wasn’t at all cold… yet all he could do was shudder.

Meanwhile, Hortense was serving breakfast and joking with the regulars about a gullible tourist name of Lenny.

Random Word Story 10~One Stroke at Life

The random word generator can be found at greativitygames.net

rubbish…oven…mill…network…lead

RULES for this creative writing exercise: Using the words above, weave a short story in one brief sitting.

My story:

“..Did you ever read  about  the frog who dreamed of being a king, and then became one? Well except for the names and a few other changes , my story’s the same one…”

“Oh sing it to me, Neil.

” I am…I said, to no one there…

Singing as she ran, Joan noticed the time.

“Geez Louise!”

If she was going to take the lead in the marathon, and keep it, she’d have to “kick it up” a notch or three. Running made her free. Not the “run of the mill” free. Flying with angels, free. After a short sprint, her legs operated independently from earthly constraints. She may as well have been on a merry-go-round ‘cuz she felt as though she was standing still as the world spun past.

She recalled what the doctor had said to her after the stroke.

“Better get used to crutches. They’ll be your best friends in time.”

She’d thrown those crutches in the rubbish two years ago today. HA!

“Call the network and give them a scoop Doc…no way!”

Joan was talking out loud to herself again. Talking limited breathing, which limited power and speed, she redoubled her efforts and burst into the lead.

Joan always, well lately, ran while listening to music. She saved “Eye of the Tiger” for the sprint to the finish. So far, it hadn’t let her down. The sun beat upon the course and she thought about chocolate chips cookies fresh from the oven. Where did all these thoughts go when she wasn’t running?

The Rocky Theme escorted her through the tape to victory once more. As she cooled,stretched and walked  toward the winner’s circle, the Queen song, “We Are The Champions” was piping into her ears. She paused from her rhythmic cool down routine and shouted aloud, “Damn straight!”

————————————-


Random word Story # 9 ~Sausages at the Road Kill Cafe’

Random words generated by creativitygames.net

Rules for this exercise:

  • create a story from 5 random words in one sitting
  • use the words generated-no substitutions

leader…saucer…ring…clippers…grease

Here’s my story:

The grease spattered as it danced on the hot griddle. Earl used to spit on the grill, to test it, but now-a-days that would not do.

“Two over medium with browns and links.”

Kim pinned up the slip and spun it toward the kitchen. Earl just grunted. He pulled on one sausage link and the others “followed the leader” out of the tray. He liked to fold them back and forth like stairs across the grill. Heck, entertainment was almost non-existent at the Road Kill Cafe’. Might as well have a little fun.

The regulars sat in a ring around the banquet table every Sunday. Today, was no exception.

“He sure is a funny looking feller that Earl. Bald as a cue ball with them there, black as coal, bushy eyebrows . I seed him at the barber twice this month. Has to so them eyebrows won’t hang in his eyes. Garth says he dulls one pair of clippers every six months with them steely creepy things.”

” No one knows where he’s from either. Showed up ’bout 10 years back. Said he bought this place cash from Dunny Brown. Ain’t no one ever heard from Dunny since.”

“Keeps to hisself is all.”

Kim made her usual round with a pot for coffee refills.

“You fellas discussing Earl again? Ain’t you got nuthin’ better ta do?”

The five old men answered “No” in unison. Kim turned and made her way toward the counter shaking her head as she went.

“There’s somethin’ unnatural ’bout him jus the same Ben. Reminds me of that Twilight Zone where the alien jus shows up and pretends to be a real person ’til his monster kin can come fer him.”

“You talkin’ flyin’ saucer talk agin Pete? Geez, you better git yourself a fishin’ license or a job!”

Earl knew those good ole boys real well and also knew their favorite topic. It didn’t bother him at all. Who’d believe five old fuddie-duddies? One day when he returned home, they’d just figure he’d moved on. In the meantime, he liked playing human. He found them almost as entertaining as sausages.

Random Word Story #6-A Different Drum

Random words generated at Creative Games.net

My rules:

Keep the words given. (no substitutions)

Create a story in one sitting.

applause…wheelbarrow…stain…number…pants

Here’s my story:

Jenna was absolutely sure she would be a famous actress one day. She was the youngest of seven children born to a family of dust mites. They all thought work was the only thing that mattered and she was the only one who knew different.

A number of times, as they toiled in the family garden, she took on a role. This time, while sitting on top of the wheelbarrow, she became Cleopatra being carried along by slaves. She was fanned with huge ostrich feathers as thousands knelt along her path. She imagined her body covered in indigo silk and golden baubles lined her arms to her elbow. Her arms felt heavy as she waved to the applause of her subjects. The pearls of sweat rolling down her cheeks were merely jewels that  dangled from her crown.

“Jenna, get off of there and help your brother.”

How she disliked it when her father’s voice popped the bubble of her illusion. Now, nothing but mud surrounded her. Her emerald embossed slippers were  just rubber boots and her silken gown became a hand-me-down pair of jeans. As she trudged to the tool shed, she found herself  in the jungle. Quicksand grabbed at her as the humidity soaked her to the skin. A shadow over head was a buzzard circling, waiting for death to claim her. She could hear the drum beats. The natives were restless and she needed to cross the river of hippos in order to put them safely behind her!  She dove…her life depended upon it.

“What do you think you’re doing young lady?”

Mom stood above her with her hands on her hips.

Jenna’s face was scraped from forehead to chin. She picked herself up and continued to the shed without saying a word. When she reached it she found that her pants were ripped. There was a huge grass stain on each knee…wait a minute, it was blood! Her leg had been bitten off by a crocodile! As she limped inside the tool shed, she could hear the drum beats getting closer…